


You're gonna love this one

by buckynotbuchanan (type_40_consulting_detective)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Rogers Has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:39:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6767179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/type_40_consulting_detective/pseuds/buckynotbuchanan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve struggles to cope with intrusive thoughts, and Sam is creative in helping him out</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're gonna love this one

**Author's Note:**

> I think I posted this to Tumblr at some point, but not here, so here you go, enjoy.

It starts small. It always does, with an intrusive thought. It doesn't matter what thought, specifically, but the feeling is always the same. /I don't want to be here anymore./

Not that he wants to die, he corrects himself. He just doesn't want to be alive anymore.

The first few times, he brushes them away. Stray, odd thoughts, those happen to everyone.

When the thoughts gang up on him, though, one after another, five or six slamming him before he can knock them away, he takes to the gym. Some people wrestle their inner demons, Steve pins them to the heavy bag and hits them until they give him a chance to breath. And again, and again, until his hands bleed into the tape and he's finally calm again.

There are always jokes about the number of bags he ruins, about saving some for someone else to train on. And he laughs along with them, but in his head, all he can think is, /You thought the bag looked bad? You should have seen the other guy./

The bike is next. Faster and faster, no helmet, driving around obstacles on an abandoned airfield. If he crashes, so be it. He's just righting what the ice delayed. He never crashes, though. He makes it back to the tower, and then the jokes start up about his reckless, daredevil ways, as if it's a funny thing.

He doesn't complain. He's a fucked up mess, but he's a living, breathing mess, so he doesn't feel he's got a right to complain. He's gotten more time than he was ever allowed. Near as anyone can tell, he may just be immortal now, unless an accident takes him out. Something about telmers, that Banner was babbling on about in an excited tone, while Steve just nodded, and wished he could go back in time and undo all of this.

Sometimes Tony looks at him odd, as if he's trying to read Steve's mind. Steve redoubles his efforts in making sure there is no sign when the thoughts start in on him. He can't be broken and still lead them, he can't be vulnerable and have everyone trust his calls in a battle, he thinks. He's an ear when anyone else needs it, a comfort when he can be, but at night, when the thoughts come charging in at him, full force, he doesn't even think to touch his phone.

Way back, when he was coughing his way through a terrible chest cold and shivering from fever, he tried to tell Bucky about the thoughts. He'd had them a long time, this little black cloud hanging around, waiting for some sun to eclipse. This were bad, there was no time to complain about this when they were scraping to eat and buy meds and keep the drafty little apartment warm and clean. Bucky had shushed him down, urging him to sleep, declaring that he was burning up so bad he was hearing things. He didn't try again.

\-----

Sam, though. Sam gets it. Sam sees the broken heavy bag and the reckless stunts, and doesn't make a comment. Sam opens his door at all hours, and never asks stupid questions like /Why/? He gets out beers, ritual even when the alcohol can't affect Steve anymore. He turns on Netflix, or some DVD, picks something of pure, mindless entertainment, and sits with him. Stays with Steve while the thoughts try to tell him that he's worth nothing but his super powers. Makes jokes about the ruined cream filling for the contestants cupcakes, or points out a how fake and staged the whole show is, or offers a bit of trivia about vanilla beans, or something. It's sometimes just all white noise, with Steve nodding and trying to laugh at the right moments. He doesn't, but that doesn't matter either.

One night, after four episodes of Good Eats, which Sam swears is the only reason he can cook, Steve catches sight of the time on the VCR.

"It's three in the morning." He comments, concerned. "On a Monday night. You off tomorrow?"

"Nah. This next one, this is good. Chicken recipes, and the bit about the Edgar Allan Poe poem."

"It's three am. You've got to work. I better..."

"Only if you want to save it for next time." Sam offers, gathering up the few empty bottles and heading for the recycling bin.

"Why?" Steve is asking the stupid questions now, but he can't help it. So many nights, he thinks,and afternoons of this. So many hours of taking up Sam's time when he surely had better things to be doing. Steve's not sure if it's the dark thoughts or his own mind offering up that one.

"You've got to see it. If you'd rather we went back to cupcake wars tonight, we can."

"Why any of this?" He clarifies, a frantic edge to the tone. "You won't get any sleep."

"I wasn't going to be sleeping anyway." In that moment, meeting eyes with him, Steve sees him let his guard down. All the bravado gone, all the easy humor and self assurance. Sam's eyes look like the ones Steve sees in the mirror every morning, the ones that haunt him.

"Cupcake wars." Steve answers then, sitting back down on the couch, Sam joining him.

"Cupcake wars it is." Sam agrees, fiddling with a few remotes to get it off DVD and onto Netflix again. "You're gonna love this one."

"Yeah. Yeah, I bet I will."


End file.
